


The Master Puppeteers

by Cheshire137Hatter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A study of Characters, And There Will be Death, Angst, Honestly What's the Point of Tagging?, How do I tag?, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, My Way of Writing Season 4, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Tags May Change, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshire137Hatter/pseuds/Cheshire137Hatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The puppet hangs loosely in the scenery of its life. It doesn’t need to move to tell its own story, for hanging is enough for it to tell what it has done and why the master puppeteer abandoned it there.<br/>In this theatre the puppet might not move, but its master does. He shows people the story by just painting the story on the wall. It’s a masterpiece, this theatre; for its unique combination between abstract, sculpture, the scene design and the motionless pantomime of the story.<br/>The only movement this scene will be of the one master puppeteer who patiently creates the scene since this story isn’t about the puppets only.<br/>In this little theatre of life the hero of the story will be the one who was forgotten in the unseen light of the stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unusual Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This story is what I would write if I was instead of Mr Moffat or Mr Gatiss. It is The beginning of Season 4 after Sherlock has landed from the plane.
> 
> It would be dark however it will have funny parts in between. In short it would be like watching Sherlock. (Frustrating sometimes, isn't it?)
> 
> The Chapters sometimes might be long, other times short. Do not let my tardiness to dishearten you sometimes.
> 
> Also it would be from different point of views. And sometimes you won't know whose point of view it was until later chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. I would welcome any constructive criticism. 
> 
> Do have fun.
> 
> Mad Hatter

It is odd how loud silence can be sometimes, how all consuming. It seeps everywhere, spreads like a fuming gas filling the corridor, the rooms one by one. It is loud, almost screaming; loud enough that he does not hear his laboured breath. He scoffs at himself, how a composed man like him ends up like this? But then again how many times do you stand with a gun pointed at your head and your gun pointed at your enemy’s head?

“This is it, isn’t it? The moment that everything should end.” He says after a deep breath. The other man’s blank eyes regard him with a calculating look.

“I believe it is.” The other man states calmly. It makes him furious, why is he so calm while he feels the whole world is about to tear apart?

“I told you this is how it ends. But then again, you never pay any attention to me. Never did.” The man smiles, melancholy. It makes him feel someone has shoved their hand inside his chest and squeezing his heart tight. He swallows past the lump he feels in his throat. He tries not to focus on his stinging eyes. He takes a shuddering breath.

“Then let’s end it properly. This had gone for a long time.”

The other man does not answer. The silence rises again with its screaming, begging for their attention. He never hated the silence this much before.

A tension in the man’s body, an adrenaline rush in his own and two loud gunshots finally breaking the silence.

His last thoughts as he falls on the ground are about how all of this began.


	2. Whisky Is Liquid Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He certainly is not looking forward to another face off.  
> ‘God, this will be tedious!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like apologize for the very late update. I have several reasons for this delay:
> 
> 1\. My term has started and it's the last term and I am trying so hard to pass all the lessons and don't go back to that wretched university.  
> 2\. I am attending classes other than my university and although they will end by the end of the month, they consume a lot of my time.  
> 3\. I made some significant changes in the plot after watching "The Abominable Bride". (I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.)  
> 4\. Due to the reason above I had to edit my work and it took a long time due to my busy schedule.
> 
> I hope you forgive me for my tardiness. I made sure I submit the work today since it is the "International Fanworks Day". I will try to update the chapters once every week but I won't promise anything.
> 
> I would welcome any constructive criticism, also Grammar Nazis are more than welcome to alert me to my mistakes.
> 
> Do enjoy.

He is running, the way seemed endless, the destination hard to reach. The tormenting questions that swirled in his distraught mind made him feel sick. ‘What if…?’

He screws his eyes shot, trying to abolish the abysmal thoughts charging his consciousness and cloud his mind. He will not forgive himself if something happened, not this time. He was supposed to be aware of everything. He prayed to God to make it on time. Because if this ends like it did last time, he knows he is to follow. The memory of ‘that time’ sends a jolting pain through his body; his eyes begin to burn on the edges.

 

***

 

It’s almost ridiculous how this normal evening turned out with one phone call:

“Hello?”

“Mr Holmes I perceive?”

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“I thought you’d take a better care of your brother, Mr Holmes.”

His breathe caught and he clutched the phone receiver tightly in his hand.

“If you lay a finger on-”

“I am afraid he is the one who laid a finger on himself.”

The tone is sarcastic and bitter. He swallows.

“Who are you?”

“This is your problem, Mr Holmes. You care about most trivial details. It does not matter who I am nor will it be any benefit to you to identify me. What matters the most is that there’s a possibility that your brother has overdosed. The drug he used is a mixture of Cocaine and Morphine, possibly a very high dosage. I would put all my force to find him dear sir rather than perusing the anonymous tip off.”

His knees buckle and he holds the table to not sink on the floor. He feels the cold sweat covering his back while his face burns hot. His hands are trembling. ‘Oh Sherlock, what have you done?’

“How would I know that it wasn’t you who drugged him?”

The man on the other line snorts.

“What for? Did I ask you for a ransom? And even if I did, why would I tell you? And if the reputation is doing you justice, Mr Holmes, I’m sure you’ll understand with one look that it was self-administrated.”

He felt oddly foolish for the first time in a long time.

“Where is he?”

“The blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens. Hurry.”

 

***

 

And here he stood in front of the blind greenhouse. He entered it carefully, watchful of any possible attackers. He heard a muffled whimper and the noise was so heartbreakingly familiar. He ran to the direction and there he found him. On a dirty mattress and the dusty ground beneath him was lit by the dancing flames of the candles. The scene he saw in front of him broke his heart immensely. He tentatively approached his brother, whom his hair was plastered to his forehead due to the sweat covering his body. His shirt was clinging to his lean frame and he looked so frail, so fragile. He sat on the mattress beside him.

“Sherlock?”

The answer was a whimper and a sob wrecking his frame.

“He’s gone!” He curls in himself. “I saw him; he was here… now he’s gone. He’s not coming back.” Another sob comes out of his mouth. He shivers and holds himself tightly. He is feverish, his forehead is burning.

He touches him with hesitation and feels a stab of pain when Sherlock shrugs off.

“Sherlock, I need to get you to a hospital. You’re burning. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

His hands get slapped away this time as he tries to touch him again.

“It’s your fault!” He shouts, his eyes are wild and his face filled with tear tracks. He can’t help it when he flinches back. He feels the guilt torrent destroying any reason or rationality he had. “You promised to keep him safe! You promised!” He starts crying again with more intensity than before.

He feels his eyes sting again. He takes a deep breath and holds Sherlock. He doesn’t mind the punches and the kicks he receives. He should take his brother to a hospital as soon as possible.

 

***

 

“Sir?”

He blinks, suddenly feels out of place. He looks around and he recalls where he is. The plane, Sherlock overdosed again. It’s always a trigger for his memory.

“Good day my dear, I hope you came with sufficient information?”

If there’s one thing Mycroft Holmes is proud about, it’s his capability to return to his aloof and cold behaviour in seconds. His mask is familiar for him that he can’t think himself in any situation he might express his genuine feelings anymore. It is a necessity to his work, as a politician and as a man with a remarkable position in the government. He should not be vulnerable, otherwise not only his country but possibly the world would suffer the consequences.

“The signal source is still not detected. There are emergency procedures to be taken by the Prime minister, as we have prepared an outline program for similar type of accidents. Mrs Smallwood demands you to attend the emergency meeting she had arranged. I also got a pardon for your brother, sir. He may stroll around the city again without a problem.” She looks at him with an amused smirk. Her expression changes slightly and she looks more hesitant.

“I also prepared your transportation.” She says as she with subtle nervousness tucks her hair behind her ear. He raises his eyebrow as an indication for her to elaborate herself.

“I might also have provided your transportation with Hine brandy.” She smiled sheepishly and he couldn’t stop the fondness that spread through his body.

“My, my! Are you trying to get me drunk so early in the morning?” He teased her with an amused smirk. She shrugged and got the hold of her mobile phone again.

“I thought of Papa Cocktail but I thought better than turn you to a Churchill, sir.” She looks from under her lashes and a playful smirk. “And I am sure the great Mr Holmes would have no problem at maintaining his beverage.”

He shakes his head, still not regretting his decision of recruiting this witty young lady.

“Ah, Andrea. Where would I be without you?”

“Let’s hope we never find out, sir.”

 

***

 

This was a costume established long ago for times like this. When he is nearly losing his strong hold on his sentiment, Andrea would never cajole him to talk about his demons when he in on duty. She just provides him with a fine glass of brandy to numb his rebellious feelings. She always knew when something triggered him, or when sometimes everything was too much and he very much needed a break he couldn’t have. At first it was an unspoken routine, they both pretended it never happens. But then there was ‘the accident’ and she started to impact his life more deliberately. Sometimes, the late nights when he couldn’t sleep due to the massive paper works waiting for his attention, she would drag him to the fireplace and listen to him talk, about different things. Sometimes she did the talking and her soothing voice lulled him to sleep. He would wake up with panic only to find the paper works summarised and the only thing he needs to do is either to sign or bin them.

He sat on the leather chair of his car and relaxed while seeping his brandy, closing his eyes to drive away the thoughts. Mind Palace was a tricky memory technique that was why he used Mind Cinema to get rid of his unpleasant memories. They would not go away completely, he knew. However they would become duller and stay deactivated for the current time. He needed his full attention now.

His phone rang and he checked the ID. Well, if it wasn’t the Detective Inspector.

“Good morning, inspector.”

“Hello Mr Holmes.

“What is the reason for you to pleasure me with your call?”

He could feel the man bristling on the other line.

“I think you are aware of the fact that Moriarty is back.”

“I assure you I am quite aware of this fact. You shouldn’t have bothered with the phone call.”

Sarcasm dribbles from his tone. He knows it’s not appropriate but the foolish man shouldn’t have called him when he is busy. The man huffs angrily and takes a deep breath.

“Well, I am sure as hell you didn’t know that his body is hanging in the basement of the Yard.”

He can feel the rush of air escaping his lungs and the way his colour drains. It couldn’t have been a fiasco. Probably the new Moriarty have hung the body there just to prove a point.

“Are you certain inspector?”

“I’ve been called on my day off to attend at the crime scene immediately. Do you think I would leave my beer and the game today for something I’m not sure about?!”

The man shouts angrily. Oh, these gold fishes and their mundane activities.

“It’s not likely that you could continue watching ‘the game’ inspector. Not with the face of our favourite criminal consultant on every screen.”

“If you are trying to rub salt on my-”

“Quite the contrary. I would arrive there shortly. Do inform Sherlock, he would love to be there to investigate.”

“Why don’t you-”

“I’ll see you very soon inspector.”

He hung the phone and took another swallow from his brandy. He certainly is not looking forward to another face off.

‘God this will be tedious!’


	3. He Would Make a Lovely Corpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think it looks grotesque, but in a good way.”  
> “That’s the whole purpose. What about the painting on the backside?”  
> “It’s even more grotesque and bizarre. It actually gives me willies looking at it.”  
> “It’s perfect then. Oh, how I wish to be here when they discover it. Can you imagine their faces?”

The back of Jim Moriarty’s head is begging to be shot. It would be really the ultimate pleasure to have the man’s brain splattered on the roof top. He thrives on it, and although he knows that killing the man is dysfunctional for their plans; he cannot help but to wonder about it, the moment his experienced fingers tighten on the trigger, the delicious recoil of his gun, and the target’s head turning into a bloody mess on the floor. He sighs, waiting.

“Daydreaming, aren’t you?” The voice in his ears almost shocks him enough to pull the trigger, almost.

“For God’s grace, James!” He huffs with exasperation, an emotion he got used to it recently due to associating with the young man. “If you continue to scare the living lights out of me, I will not be responsible for my actions!”

The man behind him chuckles; it’s merry and joyous as always. The way his eyes shine despite the drizzling morning makes it hard to believe that the man is anything but the artist he claims to be.

“I believe you have mastered your reflexes splendidly and you can control yourself just fine, _Colonel_.” The cheeky bustard and his constant teasing!

“One day I _will_ put a bell around your neck just to prevent you from creeping on me.” He says with mock threat and glaring half-heartedly at the young man.

That earns him an amused smirk from James. His eyes twinkle with mirth.

“The last one who has tried didn’t stay alive to tell the tale of his failure. Sorry to disappoint you, Sebastian.” His face shows a mock remorse, his tone light like always, teasing, and steady. Whenever he speaks of a bloody murder it feels like he is saying ‘London is drizzling now but let us not take the umbrellas since it is more fun to get wet.’

It should terrify him, this man’s black humour and his absolute disregard for the living around him. Yet, he can’t help but to be in awe despite the man’s dark past. James shifts closer to him, stands beside him, his dark hair windswept by the early morning breeze. He looks at him and raises his eyebrow.

“How does it feel to have your former boss on a gunpoint and yet not having the ability to shoot him?” He abandons his gun completely and stands to face him.

“Honestly? It is a bloody torture! It’s like you are giving me a glimpse of the Promised Land and tell me I can’t enter it. I have to wait some indefinite amount of time to get another glimpse if ever enter.”

James pouts and that makes him look even younger. He can’t suppress the fond smile shaping his face when his boss is looking like a little toddler.

“You make me sound like a terrible boss.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you are.”

James puffs his cheeks and he just laughs. It doesn’t hurt to tease the man back sometimes. James rolls his eyes and takes out a binocular out of his pocket. Always equipped, his boss. He looks intently at the roof of St Bart’s hospital. His face is serious and focused again.

“Are you lip reading?” His absolute focus must have a reason. It’s either that or he is trying to read the body language of the two man on the roof top.

“No need, I am already hearing them.” He answers, distracted by the scene that unfolds in front of him.

“Wha- How?!”

James huffs and looks at him with exasperation.

“Must I explain everything for you?”

“Yes, because even the devil can’t figure out what you would do next!”

James smirks cheekily at him.

“I might have planted a bug on Mr Holmes’ phone.”

He looks at him with complete shock and can feel his mouth gape and closes it before he hears the remark of ‘Catching flies with his mouth’.

“When did you do that? We were together all last week!” James shrugs and a bored expression on his face.

“Three days ago. I was bored and you were asleep and if I didn’t do anything I would end up killing our annoying landlord.”

“You can’t be serious!” He says furiously. He gets the lecture of being conscious and avoiding reckless scenarios while his sodding boss goes out to play around.

“Shut up, it was perfectly safe. He didn’t even notice.” He sighs in resignation and picks up one of his earphones (wireless and the newest brand, the posh git), and hands it to him. While he was fumbling with the earphones as James engages himself with watching the scene with binocular. He manages to put the earphone in his ear and hear the muffled voice of his former boss.

“Just kill yourself; it’s a lot less effort.”

He stares at James who looks like he sees a promising distraction. The faint amused smirk that forms on his face speaks volumes about his interest on what is happening.

“What the hell is happening?”

James glances at him, his eyes bright and alert. It’s been ages since he looked like this.

“He is trying to convince Mr Holmes to suicide.”

He feels bewildered. Why would that nutter do that? Sherlock Holmes was his greatest adversary. Why get rid of him?

“Go on. For me.”

He forgot how annoying his former boss was.

“How the heck will he convince Holmes? He is a narcissist if I ever see one.”

James laughs wholeheartedly. He looks so excited.

“Oh, it’s obvious, Sebastian. He will threaten him.”

“Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase!”

God he hates that man.

“Threaten him with what?!”

James looks at him deviously, his eyes sparking with something malicious.

“With his friends, obviously.”

Sherlock Holmes muffled pants streams through the headphone.

“You’re insane.”

Holmes says with distaste and rage.

“You’re just getting that now?”

“Oh good, he admits he is a nutcase.” He says with exasperation and James chuckles beside him.

Holmes dangles him on the edge of the roof top just holding him from his jacket lapels. He just needs to open his fingers and Jim bloody Moriarty will meet his doom.

“Wo-wo-wo!”

“And apparently not the only one on the roof top.” He continues and James looks at him with a single eyebrow rising gracefully.

“Mr Holmes is hardly mad. He is just impatient and in rage. Wouldn’t you put Jimmy on a familiar position if you were to meet him again?”

He just glares at James who ignores him for the sake of watching the two men.

“OK. Let me give you a little extra incentive.”

“Here it comes.” James says smugly.

“Your friends will die if you don’t.” Jim Moriarty says it maliciously and Sherlock Holmes bristles and holds his breath. He looks at James who has his typical smile. It’s like the smile is mocking him.

“John?”

“Not just John. Everyone.” He says breathlessly.

“Mrs Hudson?”

“Everyone.”

“Lestrade?”

“Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims.” Moriarty begins “There’s no stopping them now.”

Holmes pushes Moriarty back on roof. He recognises that stiff stature. It’s of a man who is waiting for his world to fall apart.

“Unless my people see you jump.”

The faint pant of Holmes fills the earphones. He closes his eyes. God, he really doesn’t want to be in his shoes, he can imagine what hardship the man is going through. Jim Moriarty looks at Holmes in a self-satisfied manner. The consulting criminal straightens his coat and looks at the detective defiantly, calling him for a challenge which is unlikely to come.

“You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me, but nothing is going to prevent them from pulling the trigger.”

He glances at James still keeping his calm and serene face. This is madness. Why doesn’t he do anything? Holmes’ death in not in James’ favour. In fact his boss seems careless enough to sit on the roof ledge.

“What the heck are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

He merely shrugs, uncaring as usual.

“Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless…”

The mad criminal master mind drags on, clearly waiting for a respond from the detective. He doesn’t wait too long.

“Unless I kill myself and complete your story.”

Holmes says in a melancholy tone. The cold chill of despair can be felt through the earphone to his very spine. He glances at James again, waiting for a reaction, for a sudden jump and flurry of movement. But the man beside him is as still as a statue.

“You got to admit, that’s sexier.”

James huffs beside him and rolls his eyes.

“What a bizarre taste. This isn’t fun. I would be enjoying myself more reading Macbeth.”

He glares at the young man beside him and his untimely comments.

“The man is an inch far from dying and you are criticizing a nutcase taste in literature?”

He is ignored and it isn’t the first time James acted as if he was a sack of potato beside him.

“And I die in disgrace.”

“Of course, that’s the point of this.”

“Oh dear lord, this is a badly written Hamlet acted by bunch of amateurs.”

James whines and scrunches up his face in distaste. He never understands the taste of his boss in anything or his terrible timing in absurd commentary.

“Look, you’ve got an audience now.”

“You really don’t want to do anything yet?”

He asks looking at the young man looking vacantly at the scene. The young man merely shakes his head.

“Off you pop.”

“Seriously, you really don’t want-”

“For God’s sake Sebastian, just shut up and let me watch.”

James snaps, his eyebrows furrowed. His focusing hard and surely he is seeing something he is not able to see. He doesn’t want to make him furious because the idiot might fall down in his excitement.

“Go on.”

Sherlock Holmes takes a step on the ledge. He feels his heart hammering in his chest. What will the detective do?

“I told you how this ends.”

The consulting detective is standing on the ledge and he sways in the air. He hardly can swallow his saliva. He holds his breath, waiting, since it’s the only thing he is capable of doing now. Sherlock Holmes faint panting can be heard through the earphones and he envies James’ uncaring, cold and calculating precision in watching the unfolding scene.

“Your death is the only thing that’s going to call off the killers. I’m certainly not going to do it.”

Jim Moriarty glances at Holmes who is facing his death and with each passing second it feels closer. He hears an exclamation of excitement and he sees James with a broad grin on his face. He looks at him quizzically but James says nothing.

“Would you give me one moment, please? One moment of privacy. Please.”

“Of course.”

Jim Moriarty gives him his consent and the man beside him is barely holding himself not to burst in hysterical laughter. The detective’s world is falling apart and had James found a gold mine, he would not be more cheerful. He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“What got you so bloody peachy?!” He asks angrily, he doesn’t like it when James leaves him in dark and he does that quite a lot.

“Mr Holmes will be incredibly foolish if he doesn’t use the opportunity.” James remarks with a wide grin. He has the audacity to laugh even harder as he sees his confused expression. He looks at him with a frown.

“What opportunity?”

James sighs fondly and looks at him with mischievous eyes.

“He said he won’t do it.”

“Okay?”

Before James manages to explain more and maybe insult his intellect in the process he hears Mr Holmes muffled laughter and followed closely by his former boss’ angry shouting.

“What?!”

The detective continues to chuckle and so does James beside him. It’s infuriating and he can only imagine how pissed of Jim Moriarty must be.

“What is it?”

Holmes just looks at him with a wide grin matching the one with the man beside him. He really wants to throttle them both.

“What did I miss?”

Jim Moriarty complains childishly. It looks like his own game turned against him and he is now the man in the dark. He won’t complain about that if James just explains enough for him. James is smirking and he continues to watch the both men dancing around each other. It seems the ‘Badly written Hamlet by amateurs’ turned into ‘Macbeth by Oscar winning actors’.

“You’re not going to do it.” Says Holmes as he approaches Moriarty. “So the killers _can_ be called off, then there’s a recall code or a word or a number.” Mr Holmes explains confidently as he circles around Moriarty.

“I don’t have to die, if I’ve got you~!” He says it cheerfully and it downs on him how utterly brilliant his new boss is. He looks at James with awe and he preens under his amazement like a peacock showing the glory of its tail. His cheeks are flushed in excitement and his grin cannot be contained.

“Oh!” Moriarty exclaims in surprise.

“You never cease to surprise me, every bloody time. You are absolutely fantastic.” He says with a chuckling huff, because he is, he is brilliant. James uncharacteristically drops his head to his chest to hide his pleasure at his words. He is red to the tip of his ears. He is still not used being praised even though it’s been years since they are working together.

“If you say that for a raise, there won’t be any.” James winks at him cheekily.

He huffs. “I’ll be lucky if we have enough money to eat dinner tonight.”

“Shush! Let me hear them!” Of course he always changes the subject when it comes to their (incredibly) low wages.

“You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?” His former boss says arrogantly. Of course he is arrogant, because no one really can make him do what he doesn’t want to do.

“Yes.” Holmes’ answer is even more arrogant. The air about these peculiar men has always left him with confusion and headache. “So do you.”

“Sherlock, your big brother and all the king’s horses couldn’t make me a thing I didn’t want to.”

“Come on, just cancel the order already. You want to do it. That’s all you want to do.” James mutters absently and he is swaying back and forward, like the nutter doesn’t know he sits on a bloody ledge.

“Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember?” Sherlock Holmes as he turned sharply towards Jim Moriarty. “I am you.” He whispers darkly. “Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do.” He pauses a little. “You want to shake hands with me in hell? I shall not disappoint you.”

He swallows heavily. This is getting very dark and most likely uncontrollable. James leans forward far too much for his liking. He stands right behind him in case of emergency. God knows in a sudden shock he may forget where he sits and just fall on the ground.

“Nah. You talk big. Nah. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary; you’re on the side of the angels.”

“Come on! Just call them off already, you moron!” James snaps in frustration. He inches closer, his hands hovering on his boss’ shoulder just in case. He likes it when he loses his calm and starts shouting. It reflects the real him, impatient and childish.

“I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for _one second_ that I am one of them.”

Holmes drops the bomb and looks hard at Moriarty who stares back at him. He feels a sudden hitch in the breathing of James and looks down at him. He looks calm but his eyes became wild. He usually gets like this when he is on the verge of murdering someone or when he is so angry because his plans went south.

“No… you’re not.” His former boss whispers in wonder. He looks intently at the exchange trying to figure out what happens next.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me he would do that.” James whispers quietly. His muscles are tense and he sits rigidly on the ledge.

“James?” He whispers, silently pleading for an answer. But he sits without a single acknowledgement to his request. Something went wrong, terribly.

“I see.” Jim Moriarty says cheerfully. “You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me.” He chuckles happily. “You’re me!”

James almost falls from the ledge, the idiot. He loops his hands around him quick enough to prevent him from falling on the cobblestone below. James is bristled and in rage.

“That complete and utter _cumberworlding fustilarian_!” The posh twat exclaims his odd and old classy insults. “I can’t believe he will ruin my precise plans _this_ way!” He hurried towards the duffle bag he brought with him and began to furiously getting some clothes out of it, grumbling like an old man.

“Of all the possibilities that could happen, he picked the least possible option!”

He stared at his boss bewildered not knowing what threw him in such frenzy. He looked back at the two men on the roof top at hearing Jim Moriarty speaking again.

“Thank you, Sherlock Holmes.” He extended his towards the detective waiting for the other man to reciprocate the gesture.

“What’s happening, James? Don’t leave me in dark again!” He snaps at the man crouching beside the duffle bag. The man throws a nasty look at him, glaring hard. Oh, he’s definitely not happy. He will be insufferable for weeks. God, WEEKS!

“He’s not going to do it. He’ll make sure of it.” The young man puts on a long white coat, disguising as a doctor. He is a master of deception and acts marvellously well. But why would he need that costume for?

“Thank you.” The criminal master mind repeats. He shakes the consulting detective’s hand warmly.

“What do you mean he won’t do it?” He asks because it got all complicated at once and he really lost the thread of the whole story.

“For God’s sake Sebastian, just use your eyes. They are there for some reason!” He snaps and hurries towards the door. He is torn between following him and watching the rest of the debate.

“Bless you.” The consulting criminal whispers. “As long as I’m alive you, you can save your friends, you’ve got a way out.”

“Shit…” He breathes. Oh, no. He won’t, he shouldn’t! He was supposed to kill that sodding prat. He understands now why James was so pissed off.

“Well, good luck with that.” Jim grins widely and pulls out a gun and blows his brains out. Sherlock Holmes flinches back and looks at him with complete horror. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to splatter the man’s brain on the roof and now the opportunity is lost forever. He runs after James who throws at him a matching white coat. They carefully go out of the building and get into a car which James opens as if he owns it.

“Wait, isn’t this an ambulance?” He asks incredulously.

James looks at him with mock amazement. “Did you find that out by yourself?” His tone pitched high with fake wonder.

“Shut up. Who owed you a favour this time?”

“It’s actually a hearse worker who knew how to get a hold of ambulance for me. His brother tried to corrupt him in defrauding and caused him to get to prison for six months. I might have been generous to provide evidence convicting his brother and proving his innocence.” James remarks calmly as he drives toward St Bart’s hospital, James is like a wild panther seeing his prey getting away but not sitting idly and doing nothing. He doesn’t know what James plans but he knows that he is always prepared with a backup. He is practical and a quick thinker and usually manages his obstacles professionally.

He can still hear the panicked huffs of the consulting detective. He must be in a dire situation now, having no other option than jumping. Would James stop him from jumping? But how? He just sat beside the man patiently, trusting him with his life. If anyone knows how to fix all of this quickly, it would be James.

“And what happened to the brother?”

“Taking some beating in Pentonville for all I care.” James huffs.

“You didn’t kill him then?”

James glares at him hard before turning his eyes back to the street. “I don’t enjoy it. You know it better than anyone else.” He whispers as he parks the ambulance on the other entrance. He says nothing because he knows.

“We must hurry and get ourselves to the rooftop as soon as possible, before Dr Watson’s arrival, preferably.” James says as he comes out of the care

“So he’s coming back after all.” He nods to himself. They might be able to save the detective before he does something idiotic.

“Of course he would! He knows the phone call to his phone was a hoax and possibly Mr Holmes is in danger, therefore his first instinct would be to come back as quickly as possible to prevent a prognosticated disaster.” James talks quickly. He motioned towards the hospital. “We have to be indiscreet. We do not wish to alarm Mr Holmes the eldest now, do we?” He said with an arched eyebrow.

“And pray tell how do you plan to be indiscreet?” He says exasperatedly as he follows his mad boss. James throws him a charming smile. Oh, so he will manipulate some poor people, again. James goes to reception and flashes his most charming smile to the woman behind the desk.

“Good morning! I had an appointment here. I came to take the subject to King’s College, we had arranged everything yesterday.”

The girl behind the counter blushed and flashed him a shy smile.

“OK, just let me check.” She started to search. “Oh, yes. There is a transport request with the name of J. Marlon M.D. for today. Is that you?”

“Yes, my lady. May I enter the mortuary now? We are rather anxious to start the research very soon.” He says with puppy eyes shining bright and a wide friendly smile that makes him feel in awe of the ability of this man changing his gloomy mood so fast.

“You have to take this paper to be signed by Doctor Hooper. She is the head of the mortuary. I think you know what to do next.” She smiles and looks at him from under her eyelashes.

“I do. Thank you for your thorough assistance. You were the most helpful.” He turns his back to her and guides him towards the lift and pressing the button for the morgue. His face drops his friendly façade and his expression becomes hard again. Once the lift has reached the destination, he leaves with his friendly face again and heads towards the office of the ‘Dr Hooper’ they are to meet. He pretends to be knocking on the door while he actually opens the door with a key he has got from God knows where. He opens the door and speaks as if there is someone there.

“CCTV is it?” He sighs.

“Of course. Mr Holmes probably wouldn’t check Dr Hooper since she is considered and ally but proceeding with caution wouldn’t hurt.” James uses the window to get access to the fire escape. He jumps and quickly goes up the stairs. He follows him closely knowing the dangers of leaving the man alone in this state. Once they reach the floor before the last James gets inside the building and takes the stairs to the roof top. He stops by the door panting lightly from the running and waits patiently.

“What now?” He asks because surely they won’t just stand there.

“We’ll wait for the end of the phone call.” James whispers distractedly. He didn’t realise that Holmes made a phone call. His practice in Afghanistan, he thinks. In order to be a precise sniper he had to cast away all the other noises and focus on the target. He can hear it clearly now that James mentioned it. It’s phone call between the detective and his blogger.

“It’s all true.” Sherlock Holmes says.

“What?” Dr Watson replies with bewilderment.

“Everything they said about me.” He continues. “I invented Moriarty.”

He looked at James with incredulity, what the heck was the man saying?!

“Why are you saying this?” The doctor asks in a disbelieving tone.

“I’m a fake.” The detective’s voice cracks. He stares at James who listens calmly with closed eyes. He can’t let Holmes to die. This wasn’t their plan.

“Sherlock.” The other man pleads.

“Won’t you do anything?” He asks with shock, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What for? It’s already too late, Sebastian.” James answers calmly.

“The newspapers were right all along.” The man continues with a voice choked with emotions. “I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly. In fact tell anyone who listens to you. That I created Moriarty for my own purposes.” The man concludes.

“Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up.” The doctor scolds “The first time we met, the first time we met you knew all about my sister, right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.”

“You could.” The choked laugh which the detective uttered made him feel his heart sink in his stomach.

“Don’t tell me you’ll stand here doing nothing! This wasn’t what we wanted to do! We agreed, James; we agreed that he should stay alive!” He says with a hushed angry shout. James unfazed still has his eyes closed.

“Answer me, God damn it!” He hisses his angry.

James lips pursed together. “No point in stopping it now. It will kill the purpose.”

“What do you mean?” but his question never got the answer as he expected.

“I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you.” The man confessed in an aloof and remote fashion. “It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.”

“No.” The doctor answers in denial. “Alright stop it now.”

“No, stay exactly where you are.” The detective demands. “Don’t move!” James raises his eyebrows at him as if he just received an answer for his questions. He didn’t. He was still confused.

“Alright.” The doctor says to calm the man down.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me!” The young man says in distress. “Please, would you do this for me?” The man begs in the most heart wrenching fashion.

“Do what?” Says the confused doctor helplessly trying to reassure the man on the rooftop.

“This phone call, it’s…” The detective hesitates. He continues soon after, with more determination. “It’s my note.” His voice is cold and aloof again, tone cold and harsh. “It’s what people do, don’t they?” He asks. “Leave a note?”

Sebastian swallows. People leave notes when they are dying, when they are ending their life. He desperately looks at James who looks through the door at the exchange. His hand is holding the door and the knuckles are white.

“It’s a good time now to interfere, James. Please tell me you have something planned.” The young man spares him a superficial glance. He looks back at the roof top.

“I do have one.” He mutters with irritation. “But it requires Mr Holmes to commit his suicide.”

“What the bloody hell!” Sebastian exclaims in rage. “That wasn’t discussed in our plans!”

“Consider it a last minute change due to the unfavourable circumstances.” James said wearily.

“Leave a note when?” The doctor says with a desperately, as if he knows what’s about to happen but not quite believing it, hoping it’s another black nightmare which he would wake up from to the sanctuary of their home.

“Goodbye, John.” Sherlock Holmes says with a flat voice and bids his friend farewell for the very last time.

“No, don’t.” The doctor says with a choked voice.

There’s an eerie silence and with a false hope Sebastian thought that the detective is possibly reconsidering his decision. But then there is the sound of the phone hitting the floor on the roof and the detective preparing to jump. James opens the door wider and they both see the view of the man opening his hands and then throwing himself from the rooftop. Sebastian looks at the place that the man was standing with a silent shock. James slowly steps into the rooftop and inspects the area for any other person or any possible surveillance.

Sebastian slowly follows him to the rooftop, still shell-shocked. He slowly steps towards the ledge to see the impact of the catastrophe just happened.

“Get away from the blasted ledge! You’ll be seen and ruin the whole plan!” James shouts angrily.

“He just flanged himself from the roof top and this is your reaction. You’re unbelievable!” He says in incredulity.

James shakes his head with frustration. “Do you want me to mourn an undead man?” He scoffs. “You must be truly stupid if you think that Sherlock Holmes had actually committed a suicide.” He leans beside his former boss and scrutinizes the body. “He’s too fond of himself to just end his life.”

He looks at him with shock. Of course, that’s why the sodding arse didn’t do anything about it. He knew.

“How do you know that?” He asks with his arms crossed on his chest. James doesn’t look at him.

“I know these things. You know my methods.” He says as he looks at the corpse with too much interest.

“No. You bloody didn’t conclude that. If your sodding hypothesis is true why did the nutter shot himself in the head? I worked for him enough to know the man was completely in love with himself.” He glares at him and James’s still avoiding his eyes. “Look at me in my eyes and tell me you concluded that.”

James huffs. “Fine. I might have eavesdropped yesterday.”

He bristles. “So, the sudden urge of walking in the midnight was actually a spying mission?” He snaps.

“Of course not. How do you think there were papers in my name here? I had to forge some, just in case the current situation happens. On my way back I saw Mr Holmes and well… The curiosity got better of me and I heard him and Dr Hooper planning for faking his suicide. Are you satisfied now, mommy?” he sneers in the end and God he likes to throttle the mad bastard. He ignores the jab in order to get closer to the corpse.

“I still can’t believe it that he shot himself in the head. He was the embodiment of Narcissism, wouldn’t like to get a single scratch on his precious skin.” He says thoughtfully. “Something is wrong in this picture.” He startles when James starts to laugh, hysterically and jumps to his feet as if he regained all his drained enthusiasm.

“Exactly. Oh you’re brilliant Sebastian! Your mindless random comments are the most helpful all the time.” He says as he giggles like he is on the top of the world.

“I’ll try not to feel insulted.” He grumbles but can’t stop the fondness he feels towards the young man who regained his energy because of something embarked his inspiration.

“Oh, never feel insulted my dear friend! This game just proved to be the most interesting yet!” He says as he rubs his hands with too much excitement.

“Care to indulge me?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Not yet. Soon, though.” He says as he produces a black body bag from nowhere. Well, of course not nowhere, since he is always well prepared. He might have picked it up from the ambulance. “We need to take this corpse. It will be really useful.”

He gapes at him can’t exactly believe what he just heard. Why would he need a corpse? And where will they keep it? Heck, how they will keep it without it rotting or be filled by maggots?

“Stop panicking, Sebastian. You’re thinking too loud. We need to leave as soon as possible. Help me.” He motions to the body. He reluctantly approaches the legs of his former boss and lifts it alongside with his new boss to put in the body bag.

“Can you handle the body to get it down from the fire escape?” James asks trying to look at him with poppy eyes. He closes his eyes tightly and huffs. They have to do it. If it requires some acrobatic movements there is no other choice.

“I think I can manage.” He sighs ruefully hopes it’s worth it.

 

***

 

He doesn’t think he can forget that day anytime soon. Not because the mad bastard shot himself in the head and took his opportunity for revenge, but for seeing through a lie and watching the terrible impact it had on the people who were involved in it. Sometimes not knowing is much better than knowing and being incapable to do anything to fix it. He was sure that the broken voice of Dr Watson would haunt him for years, and knowing that he couldn’t do anything to save the good doctor from that trauma made him feel more miserable.

 

James was right about it, the world is too fucked up to prevail justice.

 

***

 

“Pull the left hand string a bit higher.” He complies as ever; however, this is the fun part of their game.

“Loosen up the right hand string.” James says to him as he looks from the frame he made from his hands. “Good, perfect! Tie it now.” There’s a wide grin on his face. He beckons him to come and stand beside him. He goes and looks at the masterpiece they both created.

“I think it looks grotesque, but in a good way.” He nods.

“That’s the whole purpose. What about the painting on the backside?” James asks as he’s rubbing his chin.

“It’s even more grotesque and bizarre. It actually gives me willies looking at it.” He says while scrunching his nose in disgust. Then he gives a sidelong glance at the young man while trying to hide his own grin.

“It’s perfect then. Oh, how I wish to be here when they discover it. Can you imagine their faces?” He giggles mischievously. He looks excitedly at him.

“Oh yes, the complete horror and panic.” He chuckles. “After all, who fancies seeing a hanging corpse? Let alone Moriarty and in the basement of the almighty Scotland Yard.”

James giggles helplessly and tears gather around the corners of his eyes. It oddly feels like they are high school students and they are planning a stunt on the principle and getting away with it.

“The games is finally on, Sebastian.” James says breathlessly.

“Yes, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extremely long delay. The chapter is long however. I hope you enjoy it. Any constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> Do enjoy.


	4. The Mind Replays What the Heart Can’t Delete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks outside the window. It’s a relief returning home, to London. Despite his short exile (possibly the shortest in the history) he missed the city and its exotic smell and the promises of new adventures behind the damp narrow alleys.
> 
> His giddiness however is overshadowed by the tension inside the car where John and Mary are sitting beside him. He can feel John’s hidden rage and he knows he would be in too deep if it wasn’t for Moriarty’s apparent return. Especially after his recent blackout.

****

 

The rush of adrenaline as he is running and the boyish, careless laughter spreading through the afternoon air. The sheer joy of haunting for that mysterious treasure racing through his veins.

“She…ck?”

 The barking of the dog and the sudden slip and falling into the mud and even more laughter.

“Sh…ock!”

He looks around and sees black. He panics. He calls for a name but no sound comes out of his mouth. He tries again but he can’t remember the name. He just stands there helpless unable to do anything, say anything. He’s terrified. What would he do? Why can’t he just come and help him?

 “SHERLOCK!”

He gasps. Looks frantically around. John is gently slapping his face. Mary looks somewhat concerned. He tries to recall how he got there.

“That’s it. We are heading to a hospital.” John says to the driver.

“NO!” He’s shocked how he shouts in panic. He doesn’t know what’s going on but going to hospital doesn’t sound a good idea. “Not the hospital. Baker Street, go to Baker Street.” He raves, he feels hot and everything is foggy.

“Sherlock, you went under again. I’m not risking it.” John scolds him sternly. 

“No one is asking you to. This is my body and I do whatever I want.” He should get back to the flat. There would be something there. There MUST be something there. 

“I agree with John. You should head to a hospital soon.” Mary remarks and John smiles at her gratefully. He scowls at her. She smiles gently. “If it’s so important that you should get there, we can go there first but then you should go and get checked.”

He nods briskly and leans his head to the window. It’s cool and feels good against his hot forehead. After that little exploration in his Mind Palace there is something hanging loose and he can’t quite grasp it to find out what it is. It’s something about Redbeard, but not quite. He takes a shuddering breath. 

He looks outside the window. It’s a relief returning home, to London. Despite his short exile (possibly the shortest in the history) he missed the city and its exotic smell and the promises of new adventures behind the damp narrow alleys.

His giddiness however is overshadowed by the tension inside the car where John and Mary are sitting beside him. He can feel John’s hidden rage and he knows he would be in too deep if it wasn’t for Moriarty’s apparent return. Especially after his recent blackout.

Mary, the ever amazing woman; notices the tension that is crackling inside the car, tries to clear the tension by clearing her throat and she tries to strike a conversation.

“So? You said you know where Moriarty will be. Tell us Sherlock.” More likely she was trying to start an enquiry. Which is interesting. Why would she be interested? The promise of adventure or something else?

“I need to be at Baker Street first. There are couple of things I need to make sure of.”

John snorts. “Oh, so you’ll keep us in the dark again?” His tone is bitter and his eyes are dark. He glares at John and John doesn’t deter but returns the glare.

“Boys, we are almost there. Save your energy on the case.” Mary tries to break the tension yet again and fortunately they have reached home and he no longer needs to keep the glaring contest with John. He heads to door trying to open it and is surprised how fast Mrs Hudson opens the door.

“Oh Sherlock! I knew you’d come back after that terrible broadcast on the telly.” She says as she hugs him fiercely. He hugs her back, happy to see her as well. She pulls back suddenly as an afterthought.

“Oh dear! I nearly forgot! This came for you today.” She hurries back to her flat coming with an envelope. “I thought to give it to John but you showed up!” She hands it to him. 

It is calligraphy of his name with a dramatic flourish. He squints harder at first because he can’t quite believe it at the beginning. It seems the sender was doing a hard work to impress him. The envelope is C5, luxurious to touch after took off his gloves and felt it by his fingertips. One of the most expensive envelopes he had seen. But what was truly impressive was the fountain pen used to write his name. If what he thinks the owner must be very well off.

“It’s impressive to what lengths the man went to impress me.” He mutters under his breath.

“The man?” John asks with confusion. 

“Obviously, the handwriting belongs to a man, an educated and artistic man at that. This is not the first time he’s preforming the calligraphy. It’s neat and precise. He seems to be passionate about his stationary as well.”

“Is that so?” John tries to look at the envelope. “Hopefully it’s not Booby-trapped.” He rolls his eyes, John can be so blind sometimes.

“Of course it’s not John. Pay attention. He might be well off but I doubt he wastes such a fine envelope and the ink of his pen for that. Besides the envelope is too light to contain anything dangerous.” He says as he heads upstairs looking for a knife to cut the envelope. 

“Well, it sounds fancy but I doubt it would be that expensive.” John grumbles as he ascends Mary stepping right after him.

“He used a Graf von Faber-Castell. It’s worth more than 2,500 pounds.” He says distractedly and hears a chocked noise behind him and a subtle giggle from Mary.

“Who would give that money for a bloody fountain pen?! What’s so special about it?!” He exclaims with disbelief.

“Someone who could afford it. The Tip Material is out of gold. It must be worth it.” He offers as he finally finds the knife and cuts the envelope carefully. It’s a shame to have it wasted.

“Huh.” John says as he and Mary approach him to see the contents of the envelope. He blinks when he sees a stem of Rosemary and a luxurious card with gold foil and another calligraphy writing.

_“Doubt truth to be a liar.”_

“That’s Hamlet.” Mary says. He looks at her expectantly and she continues. “It’s the second act, the second scene. It’s when Polonius reads Hamlets letter to Ophelia for his mother and uncle. It’s a part of this verse: ‘Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.’ And so is Rosemary, it’s…”

He cuts her off without his own violation. “For remembrance. ‘Pray love, remember.’” He doesn’t know where that came from. His shock must appear on his face since John looks at him with concern.

“Sherlock? Still with us?” He says and approaches him carefully.

“I shouldn’t remember that.” He whispers. He doesn’t know where that came from. There’s something there. “There’s something there. I should find it.” he whispers again.

“What is there? Where do you mean?” Mary asks him gently as she guides him to the sofa. 

“My Mind Palace. There is something there. I should find it.” He says more to himself than Mary.

“Don’t Sherlock! You might go under again!” John says sternly. His voice is fading out “No, look at me, damn it!” He shakes him but that doesn’t stop the image from coming up. “I had enough, you’re going to hospital right now!” That makes him sober and he pushes John away.

“No. No hospital. Hospitals are bad. Too many mourning people.” He says without paying heed to what he’s saying. 

“No hospitals Sherlock.” Mary takes his face in her hands. “Focus with me. Take a deep breath and try to put yourself together, okay?” She says gently.

“Rue for Mycroft. It’s for repentance. So is daisy, for the unhappy love.” He mutters, they are streaming out of somewhere but he can’t find it. They are just there, stalking in his Mind Palace like some merry old ghosts, moving through the corridors and create chaos in their mystic cheerfulness. He closes his eyes and steps away from Mary to rub his temples. There’s something he deleted, something painful and it came back with a vengeance after his deep digging in his mind. The letter triggered it more, so the sender might know what he deleted.

“That’s a disadvantage.” He mutters, furious at himself. How can he delete something that might come back to haunt him later? This is foolish and reckless.

“What is a disadvantage?” Mary asks gently, her words tinted by curiosity. 

“I deleted something, it seems relevant but I simply can’t find it.” He says with frustration. 

“Relevant to the letter? You can’t possibly mean you’re looking for Shakespeare up there!” John says and he glares at him.

“I don’t care about Shakespeare, I want to know why it is inside my brain! I delete literature since it’s useless unless it’s for a case. I shouldn’t be remembering those but I do. There must be something about it.”

“Or someone who said it? You said rue and daisy were for Mycroft.” John says back frowning a little.

“John! You’re brilliant. Of course it’s someone. He must know Mycroft intimately or he wouldn’t say that he deserved repentance and had an unhappy love.” He frowns. “But Mycroft never had any type of relationship. He hates people.” He feels confused. “How can that man know something I don’t?”

“Maybe Mycroft never mentioned it?” Mary suggests but he waved it away.

“No, I would know and I would have made him miserable. No, that’s not it.” He shakes his head. John rolls his eyes and mutters something about sibling rivalry.

“What if wasn’t Mycroft who had an unhappy life but someone who fell in love with him?” John says suddenly looking at him with excitement.

“That’s actually very plausible. But why give the daisy to Mycroft in the first place? It doesn’t make sense!” He rubs his hair furiously, the answer so far away from his grasp. It was as if his missing memory was mocking him. Just as he was about to follow the source of his memories his phone goes off. He blinked and glared at his phone. It was Lestrade. Why would Lestrade call him? 

“Sherlock Holmes.” He said as he answered the call. 

“Sherlock! Nice to hear from you.” Lestrade starts. He sounds a bit frustrated. “Do you have some time to spare?”

“What is it Lestrade? It’s your day off, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, pretty sure you saw what was on the telly.” He said, completely exhausted. 

“Thanks for stating the obvious. Do you want to recite what he said?” He says with sarcasm.

“Shut up you sod! Damn it you both are arseholes!” He shouts angrily.

“I see, my brother has been talking to you recently.” He smirks. Those two never got on.

“Yes, and I’ll have the pleasure of seeing him soon. So you grace me as well and come to the Yard.”

“Why? What happened in the Yard?” John and Mary look at him curiously.

“We have our beloved psychopath corpse hanging in the basement, care to join the party?” Lestrade says with overly cheerful tone, clearly angry about his encounter with his brother. Mycroft always pushes the man to show a sarcastic personality.

“Are you sure about that?” John looks with a frown and his head is tilted to side. He holds his finger up to show him to wait.

“I haven’t seen it yet, I’m heading there but Dimmock called me and told me that, the poor sod was terrified.” Good, he sounds calmer. Calm Lestrade is always the easiest to communicate with.

“I’ll be on my way, don’t let anyone touch anything, my brother included.” He says as he quickly stashes the letter in his pocket.

“It seems the game is on, John.” He can’t help the grin on his face. He already feels better.

John looks at him with bewilderment and soon anger. 

‘Oh, please don’t start it.’ he thought with himself

“Minutes ago you overdosed and now you are running shouting ‘The Game Is On!’ and you think I’ll just come along happy with everything?”

“Yes.” Both he and Mary say in the same time. Mary winks at him.

“John! You can hardly resist a good case. You’ve been so stressed this lately. Go and have some fun.” She shoves him forward. John gapes at her.

“You’re pregnant, I can’t just leave you!”

“I’ll have a cup of tea with Mrs Hudson while you boys are at it.” She moves her hands as if indicating them to leave. “Come on, go ahead and have fun. I’m waiting for a nice blog entry John.” She says with a wide grin. Sherlock wants to hug her but refrains himself and looks at John instead with a raised eyebrow. John simply huffs and throws his hand up.

“Fine! I’ll come. Lead the way!” Sherlock smirks. He hides it with hurrying downstairs and flagging a cab. John followed him and sat after him.

“Scotland Yard, I’ll give you a generous tip if you get there under 15 minutes.” The cabbie speeds up and moves up fast enough to make everything turn into blur. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s happening?” John asks him impatiently.

“It seems that dear old Jim is hanging in the basement of the Yard.” He says with distraction, already texting Mycroft.

 

**Do you know anyone who is interested in calligraphy?**

**-SH**

 

“What?! How did he get there?” John exclaims. “You said he blew his brains out!”

“And yet his body was never found. It just went missing that day.” He states calmly as he checks the text Mycroft sends him back.

 

**Quite a few. Why?**

**-MH**

 

“And Mycroft never found out what happened? Who took the body?” John prods more.

“No, apparently they had remove all the evidence of their deed. We are dealing with a professional criminal.” 

“Like Moriarty?” John asks with exasperation.

“Like Moriarty.” He confirms. “However he might be an enemy to Moriarty as well. I think he is the missing person.”

 

**Does any of them know you intimately?**

**-SH**

 

“What missing person?” John asks again.

“My time away should have taken longer. About 3 years. However it was cut short because someone else was also wiping Moriarty’s web.” He clarifies. “We never found out who did, however they were all shot from distance.”

“By a sniper you mean?” 

“Exactly. There is the possibility that it’s one of his employees who disappeared by 2006, but the said employee never appeared anywhere to confirm he is still alive.”

 

**None. May I know the reason behind this enquiry?**

**-MH**

 

**Soon.**

**-SH**

 

The taxi stops in front of the Yard and Sherlock throws 30 pounds for the driver who grins and drives away fast. They see Lestrade coming out of his car.

“Nice to see you guys made it fast. Shall we have a look?” Lestrade says with a raised eyebrow.

“Lead the way.”

They enter the building and head to the basement where the archives of Scotland Yard was held. There was quite a commotion however it seemed that no one was daring to go forward.

“Mr Holmes!” a familiar voice called. “I’m so glad you could make it!” 

“Inspector Dimmock.” He greets. “What do we have?” 

“Well, it appears the body is hanged just there. And well…” He trails off doesn’t know how to complete his sentence.

“You mean to say that no forensic force entered because they were terrified of a body hanging by its neck?” He asks incredulously.

“I wish it was just a body hanging by its neck Mr Holmes. It’s far worse than that.” Dimmock swallows nervously. He narrows his eyes and pushes through the population. Lestrade helps by demanding everyone to step aside. He enters a room and stops still by the scene he is greeted with. The room itself is quite normal, filled with rows and rows of paper works and a small desk and chair by the corner. There is a security camera in the other corner and there’s a piece of paper attached to it. He ignore the camera to look at the crime scene. Indeed it is a scene! A macabre scene from a horrific play. There stands Jim Moriarty with a manic and grin looking at them from under his lashes, his hands wide open as if he is presenting something grandeur. His clothes are the same of the roof top, minus his coat. He stands with one leg forward and the other leg crooked behind it. The body is hanged by invisible strings shining under the dim light of the room. However what is most captivating is the painting behind the body on the wall. It’s painted with a rusty colour. He suspects its blood and confirms his suspicions when he sees blood bags beside a bucket filled with blood. The blood is coagulated so it must have been here for a while but no longer than last night. The painting itself is magnificent. It shows explosions, murders, gangs attacking other gangs, human trafficking and all painted with a different shade of blood. It must be so disgusting but it isn’t. It’s amazing, fantastic, and creative all at once. The culprit casts a new light to the art. 

“God this is terrible!” John whispers in shock. “How could someone do this?” 

“It’s disgusting! Who would hang a body like this? It’s as if he made a puppet!” Lestrade exclaims in anger.

“It is a puppet since it’s the killer’s trade mark.” The silky and proud voice of his brother behind him does little to make him turn back.

“So he finally came to England. ‘The Master Puppeteer’.” He whispers in delight and hears Lestrade swallows audibly. 

“The Master Puppeteer?” John asks.

“I’ve heard about him. Wasn’t he off killing people in Italy?” Lestrade asks from Mycroft.

“He was indeed. The Lucchese family is no more it seems.” Mycroft looks at his nails.

“You mean this is a serial killer?” John asks with a horrified shock.

“Yeah, everywhere he goes there’s a handful of bodies hanging after him.” Lestrade explains.

“It’s not just that. This man is not a simple serial killer. He is a vigilant. He interferes whenever the police can’t punish the culprits properly. He only kills criminal and poses them as the crime they committed and paints the wall behind them with their blood. The painting usually shows a brief summary of their horrible actions. Beside the body there are always folders proves the convictions of his victims. He tortures them first, painful wounds but not life threatening. Then he shoots the victims in the head, effective and quick way of killing. Then he starts arranging the scene of his murder. That’s why in the European countries they named him ‘The Master Puppeteer’.” He explains in one breath. “However, there’s something peculiar here. Have you noticed?” He looks at his brother who raises the both of his brows.

“It’s not the body of Jim Moriarty but it’s a wax sculpture.” Mycroft states easily.

“What, seriously?” Lestrade gapes at Mycroft. Mycroft simply rolls his eyes, leading to a twitch in Lestrade’s brow.

“I am truly astonished how they pick you up to promote you with no basic skill set. That body clearly has been there for the night, hasn’t it?” Mycroft asks as he raises an elegant eyebrow.

“Yeah, so?” Lestrade asks impatiently.

“If you pay attention to the symptoms after death, i.e. rigor mortis, you would realise he shouldn’t be having that manic smile and it would go lax, wouldn’t it? Clearly it’s a sculpture. Now it’s a known fact that wax sculpture closely resemble a man, and I must say, it’s rather a fine work.” His brother concludes and looks at him.  

He nods and starts inspecting the body. It’s a fine work indeed. The skin is smooth without any bumps, however; when he opens the buttons he realises it’s not in one piece but it’s made of several pieces attached together. What makes it even more fascinating is the low hum he hears coming from the sculpture. He puts his ears on the chest of the wax sculpture and indeed there's some sort of mechanical sound comes from inside it. He inspects the body more closely and he finds a button. He presses the button and nothing happens. Suddenly there is a loud laughter echoing of the walls. He jumps back when he sees the sculpture starts moving. The wax Jim Moriarty stands tall, it straightens its legs and opens its hands even wider. There’s a ruffling sound and suddenly a large banner falls down. It continuously chants "Did you miss me?" and laughs insanely afterwards. The banner itself is written by blood as well. The writing with bold large font simply stated:

**"YOUR MOVE"**

 


End file.
